Chapter 10
Counteroffer
Zach clocked her approach at fifty yards.
He knew it was her from her footsteps. The cadence was wrong for anyone else—too measured, too controlled. Emma always moved with purpose, but not like this, not like she was bracing for impact.
Her steps slowed once, near the edge of the path, as if reconsidering, then continued.
She’d made a decision and planned to stick with it.
Most people didn’t notice the small things—the shift in air pressure, the change in footfall, the way tension carried through someone’s shoulders. Zach noticed everything.
Tonight, she walked like someone prepared for a fight. Not panicked or uncertain, but deliberate. Like she’d already chosen her ground.
He didn’t turn from his throwing target. The blade in his hand was perfectly balanced, custom-made. He evaluated the weight distribution, the center of gravity.
Predictable. Controlled.
Unlike everything else right now.
He’d thrown this knife ten thousand times. Maybe more.
Twenty feet. Dead center. Every time. Even in the fading light.
The blade buried itself in the target with a satisfying thunk.
“You’re walking like you’re about to argue with me,” Zach said.
Emma stopped a few feet behind him. “That obvious?”
“Yes.”
He retrieved the knife, tested the edge with his thumb. Still sharp. The routine was automatic—assess, adjust, repeat. The same way he approached everything.
She moved forward into his peripheral vision. The setting sun caught her hair, making it shine almost blue-black. She’d been crying. He could see it in the slight puffiness of her eyes, the faint tightness around her mouth—like she held something in place by sheer force of will.
Still, she came here to argue with him.
Something tightened in his chest. Something dangerous.
He ignored it.
“I spoke with Kate and Lena,” Emma said.
Zach waited. Silence was a tool: it made people fill the space—reveal more than they intended.
Emma exhaled slowly. “You win.”
The words didn’t sound like surrender.
They sounded like a decision she didn’t like, but accepted anyway.
That was unexpected.
Zach pivoted to face her, studied her expression. “This isn’t a game.”
“I'm aware.” She met his eyes. “I’ll relocate. Whatever protocols you think are necessary.”
The tension in his shoulders eased.
He’d been braced for her to refuse. But she agreed. The relief was immediate—and unwelcome. It hit fast before he could shut it down.
That was a problem.
He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding the line—waiting for her to continue pushing back, refusing, making this harder than it already was.
He shouldn’t care this much.
Caring creates blind spots.
Caring gets people killed.
Emma crossed her arms. “Kate was… persuasive. And Lena nicely pointed out that I’m being an idiot.”
“Smart friends.”
“They have their moments.” A ghost of a smile flashed over her face, then vanished. “So, what’s the plan?”
Zach had already wargamed this scenario a dozen different ways, run through threat matrices, entry points, security protocols. The moment Emma became a target, he started planning.
“Security escort whenever you leave the resort proper.” He kept his voice level, clinical. Stripped of anything that could be interpreted as personal.
It wasn’t.
“Restricted movement—no unauthorized trips, no deviations from scheduled routes. Check-ins every four hours. And you don’t go anywhere alone. Ever.”
Emma’s eyebrows rose. “You’re basically putting me under house arrest.”
“Protective custody.”
“Zach—”
“My job is to keep you alive.” The words came out harder than he intended.
Images flashed.
Somalia. The heat. The blood. The way the air had smelled—metal and dust and something burned into memory.
Zach locked it down. Pushed it back into the dark place where all the other nightmares lived.
Emma watched him with those warm brown eyes that saw too much. She looked at him as if he were a person, not a weapon. Like there was something in him worth understanding. It was unsettling.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “What else?”
He outlined the rest. Communication protocols. Emergency procedures. The restricted zones she needed to avoid unless he was with her.
With each point, Emma’s expression grew more blank.
“Anything else?” she asked when he finished.
“Those are the baseline requirements.”
“Baseline.” She nodded slowly. “How long does this last?”
“Until the threat is neutralized.”
“Which may be weeks.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t respond, just gazed out at the ocean, where the sun was sinking below the horizon in streaks of orange and gold. Zach studied her profile, the set of her jaw. She was processing. Thinking.
The breeze fluttered the hair around her face, and he caught the faintest scent—vanilla, warm and soft, with something deeper beneath it.
Not perfume. Something softer.
When she turned back, her expression had changed. Firmed.
“This threat is to me,” Emma said. “I have terms, too. You don’t get to investigate without me.”
“That’s how this works.”
“No.” She stepped closer. “That’s how you want it to work. But I won't hide in a bunker while you handle everything.”
Zach felt his jaw tighten. “You don’t have security training. You don’t have tactical experience. You’d be a liability.”
“I have something you don’t,” Emma’s voice was calm, certain. “I know these people. The staff, the contractors, the vendors. I know their relationships. Who’s struggling. Who’s holding grudges.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re looking for patterns in systems.” She met his gaze. “I’m looking for motive.”
She took a step closer. “You understand security systems. I understand people. Whoever did this is a person. Someone here is the culprit or working with him. You won’t find them on camera feeds, or you would have already. You’ll find them by understanding motivation.”
Zach wanted to shut her down. End the discussion. Remove her from the equation.
That was the safe call. The professional call.
It wasn’t the only one.
Because she wasn’t wrong. And that made this worse.
The thought of Emma anywhere near the investigation twisted something in his chest. She was already at risk. Allowing her to be more involved, to get close to the danger—
But she had a point.
He'd planned to cross-reference security access logs, track digital footprints, monitor communications. Standard protocol. It would work—eventually.
Emma was suggesting a different approach. One that might work faster.
He recognized the look in her eyes. She wouldn't back down. If he refused her outright, she’d find her own way to investigate. Without him.
That was significantly more dangerous.
“My answer is no.” Zach scrutinized her reaction as he said it—measuring attitude, looking for hesitation, doubt.
There was none.
Emma didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll investigate on my own.”
“That’s reckless.”
“That’s me taking an active role in my own safety.” She held his gaze. “I’m not helpless, Zach, nor am I stupid. I know I need security. I realize these protocols make sense. But I also believe I can help.”
He considered her reaction. Most people couldn’t hold eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. They looked away, uncomfortable with whatever they saw in his face.
Emma didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. She held the line.
The silence stretched between them as he ran through scenarios, mapping outcomes the way other people did math. Emma's help meant she’d be visible, exposed. But it also meant he could control the situation, maintain oversight.
Emma investigating without him meant chaos. Unknown variables.
He despised unknown variables.
“That’s my counteroffer,” Emma said into the quietude. “I’ll relocate. I’ll follow your security rules. All of them. No arguments.”
Zach waited for the other shoe to fall.
“But I help investigate. With your supervision.” She paused. “I'll work with you, not around you.”
The distinction mattered.
Zach could work with that.
He hated it.
“You follow my orders,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Exactly. No improvisation.”
“Agreed.”
“If I say we abort, we abort. No debate.”
“Okay.”
“And you tell me everything. Every conversation, every observation, every suspicion.”
“Yes.”
There wasn’t a version of this in which he kept her completely out—only one where he controlled how close she got.
Zach let out a long, slow breath, accepting the decision even though he hated it.
This was a mistake.
Emma running loose in the investigation would be a bigger one.
“Fine,” he gritted through his teeth. “You help. Under my conditions.”
Relief flashed across Emma’s face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He pulled another knife from his belt. “We start tomorrow. 0600. I’ll brief you on what we know so far.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Zach nodded once, then gestured toward the path. “Come on. We need to get you relocated.”
Emma hesitated. “Now?”
“Now.”
She fell into step beside him, and the faintest hint of vanilla and warm wood drifted past him.
Zach didn’t mention where. Didn’t mention that the safest place on the island was under his direct control. Or that, from this point forward, distance was not an option.
Or that she’d be staying with him.